Week 7

I know where he put his hands,
his mouth.
They slid along my legs.
I felt him taste me.

I wish I could stop my mind
from thinking
in moments like these.
It's always going,
always trying to memorize.
So frightened of losing the memory,
the thoughts,
the ideas.

It's as if perfection happens only in those moments
never to be returned to,
as if the rest of my days will wear on
and in the darkness to come,
I will think to that time in Ireland
where I had briefly experienced happiness.